


pose for me

by griffinxwoods



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, F/F, Fluff, Professor Lexa (The 100), idk how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 14:37:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffinxwoods/pseuds/griffinxwoods
Summary: a brand new, never been done before au where clarke's an art student who needs a new model for class, and by pure chance, lexa just might be the one.





	pose for me

**Author's Note:**

> sup, here's my first venture into fic writing. if it's terrible, i know! if it's good, tell me more. 
> 
> you're always welcome to bother me on the tungle - griffinxwoods.tumblr.com

“Please stop.”

“Come on, he’s pretty hot.”

“He’s not.”

“Really great in bed, though.”

“Raven.”

“He did this one move the other night I’ve never done before and it felt amazing.”

“I swear to God, I will throw up on you.”

Clarke laughed at her friends’ antics as she sipped on her latte, not at all phased by the conversation taking place next to her. Raven released a laugh and sat back in her chair. Octavia just tried to keep her lunch from resurfacing. 

The three of them sat for lunch at the Ark Cafe, a hotspot on campus. Every Tuesday since the semester began, they’d meet here and catch up on anything they’d miss during the week. Granted they did all live together, seeing entirely too much of one another in ways you would never want to see your closest friends. But between going to class, homework, jobs, and a variety of other events, it’s difficult to really check in on each other. Therefore, weekly lunch dates at the Ark.

“Raven, ease up a bit,” Clarke says.

“Aw, why, come on. It’s fun seeing her squirm,” Raven grinned.

“I could go the rest of my life without hearing about my brothers sexual encounters and it would still be too soon,” Octavia shivered. She faced Clarke, ready to wipe the mental image of Raven and Bellamy doing, well, anything at this point really.

“So, moving on to a safer topic. How’s that assignment going, Griff?”

“It’s… real shit right now, thanks for asking.” She sighs.

Being an art major, Clarke liked to think she had some talent. Growing up, she always had some writing instrument in her hand, a brush, a crayon. She’d grab something to write with and drew on anything she could find. Sometimes that might just be the walls in her home. Her mother would be furious, but Jake, he never bothered much. Always encouraging Clarke to draw, to practice. So she did. And she got pretty damn good at it. One thing she couldn’t seem to fully grasp were portraits. So she decided to hone in on that part of her craft this past year. Currently in an advanced drawing course, one of her assignments was head shots.

Raven lowered her head and looked at Clarke through her lashes. She ran a finger up Clarke’s arm and said, “I’m always down to pose for you, Griff.”

“Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

“I’ll make it worth your while, ya know?” It came out huskier than she intended but Raven wasn’t one to back down from some good old teasing fun.

“Rae, you’ve posed for me before and, hate to break to you babe but, not really jonesing for round two any time soon.”

Octavia snapped her head towards Clarke, biting her lip to keep a smile from bursting, while Raven sat back and nursed her bruised ego.

“That was just uncalled for.” Raven whispered.

Clarke laughed and shook her head, looking down at her latte. “Seriously though, I’ve drawn you guys so many times it honestly does nothing for me creatively now.” Clarke wiggles in her chair, adjusting her position and sighs. “I don’t know, I think I need something new… fresh, maybe. I feel like I’m in a rut.” Clarke always felt a less confident about her skills in portraits.

Octavia and Raven both hummed knowingly. Raven snapped her fingers, bolted forward, Clarke’s sure she has a terrible idea on the tip of her tongue.

“I know!” Raven exclaimed, “You could post an ad for a model on Craigslist. A girl in my English Lit class did that once - don’t look at me like that - she’s fine! She needed a new roommate!”

Yup, definitely a bad idea.

“Yeah, fine,” Octavia huffed, using air quotes around ‘fine’. “She’s probably being held captive somehow without a way out. Next time you see her in class, ask her to blink twice if she needs help.” Raven rolled her eyes and sat back once again. She pushed up the sleeves of her red henley and snatched up her fork, stabbing her lunch. 

Clarke glared at Raven, “No way in hell, Rae, and you know that.”

Octavia watched Raven as she played with her pasta, “Why don’t you just, post a flyer on campus?” She turned to Clarke and took a sip of her water. “You’re bound to get a few chumps call you up to pose for you.”

Raven’s face lit up, “Griff, imagine the nude paintings you could do. The possibilities…”

Clarke let out a breathy laugh. Never one for letting an opportunity turn remotely sexual, Clarke was half expecting Raven to come to that conclusion for her. She knows Clarke would never ask a stranger to pose nude, but of course, it wouldn’t be Raven if she doesn’t at least suggest the idea.

“Thanks, Raven. I’ll throw in a nude just for you.” Clarke runs a hand through her hair and exhales a breathy laugh. She closes her eyes for a moment, thinking about it. “You know, O, I’ll do that. I mean, why the fuck not, right?”

Octavia and Raven cheered; Raven pumped her fists over her head, quietly chanting Clarke’s name.

Octavia looked to Clarke, leaned forward and spoke softly, “You know that you’re gonna do so good on this assignment, right Clarke? You’re incredible.”

Clarke gazed at Octavia fondly and grasped her hand on the table. She really did love her friends.

___________________________________

Aristotle, Plato, Kant, Bentham. Every single student sat in this classroom could not care less about these dead men and their supposed ideas. They fidgeted with their pens, shuffled in their seats, eager to run out of the room, out into the modern world filled with snapchat filters and ridiculous memes.

But the woman at the front of the classroom, walking from one end to the other while lecturing? This was her one of her favorite places. Commanding a room, discussing one of her favorite subjects in the world, engaging young minds (granted they’re probably just as old as she is). Here, she was comfortable. She was at ease, and she loved it. 

“Immanuel Kant’s most notable contribution to moral philosophy is the categorical imperative. I hope you all read up on it. The first formulation of the imperative, also considered the formulation of a universal law of nature, is ‘act only according to a maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.’”

She paces the front of the room, hands clasped behind her back. Sleeves rolled up to her elbow of her otherwise pristine shirt, slim slacks and brown oxfords ironed and shined to perfection. Glasses perched up the bridge of her nose, the picture of professionalism. She surveyed the room. A handful of poor souls watched her as she spoke, mostly indifferent.

Lexa sighed and straightened herself at the center of the classroom. She leaned against her desk and brought her hands forward, crossing her arms across her chest. She decided to switch gears for a moment, hoping to revive her students and engage them in, really, anything.

“Okay, take the case of the murderer at the door.” A few students sat up straighter. One boy in the middle had his head down, resting on his extended arm on the desk. He rolled his head around and looked at Lexa, intrigued. She hitched an eyebrow up. Of course, it had to be murderers.

“Let’s say, for example, Max here,” Lexa pointed at the boy with his head rested sideways on his arm, “excused himself from the class to use the restroom. We all know where he went, right?”

Scattered nods around the room.

“We can assume he went down the hall, the closest restroom. After a few minutes, we hear a knock on the door.” Lexa walks to the side of the room, knocks on the door. “There’s a gentlemen behind the door asking where Max is.”

Lexa clears her throat and her voice booms. “'Hello, I’m looking for Max, I’ve come here to kill him. Do you know where he is?’” She’s turned to them, holds a hand up and forms a finger gun at Max.

Lexa glances around the room at her students. Some laughed at her antics, but thankfully, most of them were paying attention, thank God. Life has been reignited in her classroom.

“How many of you will lie and say that Max is actually in a classroom in a different building?” The boy in question has sat up a while ago, now looking around the room to see who would inevitably betray him, as if anyone in college is loyal to some kid they only see twice a week and never speak to. Most of those speaking agree, muttered yes’, not ratting out Max. He releases a breath, nodding. The class has allowed the kid to live another day, safe from Lexa’s finger gun.

Lexa purses her lips, nodding, crossing her arms. She chuckles, knowing the response she’ll receive, “Kant would argue that you all just did the wrong thing.“ 

An uproar among everyone, Max is now lamenting the hypothetical loss of his life because he just had to use the bathroom.

But how could that possibly be the wrong move? The entire classroom just saved Max’s sad life. He can go home and play Call of Duty in his underwear while shoveling Doritos and wiping the dust residue off his fingers on his chest, if the boy pleases. They did the right thing.

“Professor, that’s fucked,” was heard, a delinquent in the back of the classroom. Lexa internally groaned.

“Mind your language.” she said.

He sank back in his seat and crossed his arms. “There’s no way that can be the wrong answer to this. We probably saved his life so kudos to us,” he smirked.

“According to Kant, it’s wrong,” Lexa says, curt and final. She paces the front of the room again, “he believes if you know where Max is, you have to tell this man at the door that Max is, in fact, in the bathroom down the hall. Solely because lying is wrong. It’s always wrong, no matter the situation you’re put in.”

Lexa stops by her desk and glances at her watch. Five minutes to spare. Not bad. “Alright class, seems like a good place to end so that’s it for today. Please don’t forget your next test is soon. I hope you’re all well prepared by then. Have a good weekend.”

The students quickly pack up their bags and bolt out of the classroom. Lexa walks around her desk and begins packing her laptop and lecture notes into her leather messenger bag. A few students wave goodbye and throw small smiles at Lexa as they leave. Some of them blushing when Lexa returns the gesture.

A woman clad in black - black leather jacket, black ripped jeans, black combat boots, the only thing that isn’t black is the plain white shirt under the jacket - props herself against the doorway, watching as Lexa finishes gathering her things. Lexa drapes the bag over her and moves towards the door.

“You know, if I were you, I’d definitely take advantage of the amount of students fawning over you.”

Lexa gasped, her emerald eyes wide, “Anya,” she breathed, “that’s illegal - don’t say that so loud.”

Anya raised her arms in defense, “I’m just saying. There’s some pretty hot chicks in your class. I’m always here to encourage my little sister to get some action.”

“Thank you, Anya. Much appreciated. Will definitely take that under consideration. Wonderful to see you anyway,” Lexa rolled her eyes.

Anya smirked. She loved teasing her little sister. It was too easy.

“Alright so, where to, hotshot college professor?” Anya clapped her hands together.

“There’s a good place near campus, amazing tacos,” Lexa responded.

“Sold.”

The two sisters walked through campus. Anya was just relieved of the longest shift of her life at the station, and before heading back home, she decided to check on her little sister.

“Anything new and exciting happen within the last maybe 37 hours since I’ve seen you?” Anya asked.

Lexa sighed and adjusted her glasses slightly. “Not really. Class was alright today. I like my students when they actually participate in discussion. They’re smart, they just need a little push sometimes so I did the whole ‘murder at the door’ scenario.” Anya hummed and nodded, familiar with that story. “I got ‘em talking. But otherwise, you know, same old.”

“How about you switch it up from the usual same old to something, I don’t know, different?” Anya suggested. Lexa has been doing just about the same things for the past few years. She knows that going through what Lexa did was difficult - she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But Anya just wants Lexa to enjoy herself, live a full life like she deserves.

“What do you mean, I have fun,” Lexa scoffed.

“Reading articles on the space program isn’t what most people consider to be fun, Lexa. Neither are documentaries”

“Sending people to Mars is so incredible. I mean can you imagine being able to step foot on a planet? The moon is one thing, but another planet?” Lexa said, arms waving around as she spoke. Once you get her going on anything space related, she can really run with it. “And lots of people watch documentaries, okay. It’s like in style now or whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s really cool, Lex. But I mean more along the lines of this crazy thing called socializing.” She chanced a look at her sister. Lexa sighed. “Going out. Meeting someone new, sharing a couple drinks and talking. It wouldn’t hurt you.”

As they walked past the campus cafe, Anya slowed, looking at the cafe’s storefront. A neon sign flashing above the door, letting the world know they’re open for business. A list of specials for the day, and a few flyers hung up by students. One of them is for math tutoring, triggering some flashbacks to high school pre-calc and Anya shivers. Math is an abomination and ultimately impossible to understand. Another flyer - an advertisement for a band playing near campus at a bar Anya frequents. She won’t attend that night, thank you flyer. The last one mentions needing a model to pose for an art student, a brief description of a meeting beforehand, along with a phone number.

Anya yanks Lexa back by her bags strap and points at the flyer, “Look, this person needs someone to pose for them for an art project. Why not start there? It seems like it’ll be a one on one meeting, and then they’ll draw you.”

Lexa huffs and crosses her arms. She doesn’t need this. “It’s fine, Anya. I’ve met people, I socialize.”

“Lexa, if you even think about telling me the people you socialize with are the teachers in your department, where you talk about old dead philosophers, I swear on my own grave that I will throw you onto the back of my bike, ride out of town to the highest cliff I could find and throw you off of it into the black depths of that valley.”

Lexa opened her mouth to refute that claim, but closed it and scrunched her face up instead.

Anya nodded, “Yeah, I thought so.” Lexa glanced down and shoved her hands in her pocket.

Anya stepped towards her, she spoke softly, “Look, just meet with them, feel it out, and if you’re really not into going forward with it then fine. But I just want to know that you tried. You left behind your comfort in your routine and you did something new and unexpected.”

Anya looked at Lexa, pleading, hoping Lexa would agree to at least meet her halfway on this one. Anya has tried repeatedly for Lexa to try something different. After the incident, she let Lexa heal, take as much time as she needed. But it’s been so long, and she’s worried Lexa’s going to stay stuck in this rut Lexa’s put herself in.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Fine. I’ll call them. But if I’m not feelin’ it, I’m leaving.”

Anya’s smile was so wide it reached her ears. "Good. That’s all I ask.”

Lexa huffed and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She took a picture of the flyer, deciding to call them later after lunch. A part of Lexa knew that Anya was right. She had a point, after all, it had been too long since Lexa genuinely did anything of her own volition. There’s no harm in trying new things, is there?

___________________________________________________________

The Brew is a quaint coffee shop on the edge of campus where most students pop in on their way to class. Not entirely too large, it housed a few couches for its customers to lounge on, some scattered tables and booths, a handful of paintings and photographs done by some of the students lined the walls while today’s hits played softly throughout the shop. The employees scattered around behind the counter, taking orders and preparing drinks. It was cozy.

Clarke walks in and heads up to the counter. She orders a small caramel frappucino, hands the barista a bill and picks up her drink at the other end of the counter once it’s been called out.

Clarke picks out a booth in the corner up front. She still has a few minutes to spare before meeting with her potential model. She shifts in the booth, fidgets with her drink and pulls out her phone to occupy herself. Clarke’s nervous about this chick. They spoke on the phone briefly, set up a meeting before Clarke makes a final decision. But the last thing she needs is to draw a student in her apartment and end up on the floor, gutted like a fish - although as normal as they probably seem here, that could very well still happen. Shit. Am I even sure this is a good idea? What if I just use Instagram models as reference instead? Could that work?

Just as Clarke was pulling up Raven’s contact, the door to the Brew chimed open. Clarke looked up as a woman walked into the coffee shop and her jaw dropped. Donned in brown chelsea boots, ripped jeans, a leather jacket over a dark blue button up, wearing a pair of Ray-Ban glasses with frameless bottoms, the woman took a moment to look around and Clarke held her breath. She’s praying this is the girl she’s set up a meeting with.

The woman spots Clarke in her booth, tilts her head to the side like a puppy and strides over to her hastily. It seems like this woman’s out of breath.

“You’re the art student, right?” Clarke nods.

Lexa sighs in relief and drops down in front of Clarke, situating herself in the booth.

“I’m so sorry, I hope I made it on time. I don’t even know honestly, I just bolted from my classroom over here. I got a little held up by a student who -”

“Wait, you’re a teacher?”

“TA actually,” Lexa beamed. “I’m the TA for Professor Gonzalez - ethics and critical thinking. He lectures for the most part and I jump in half the time, when needed, but I definitely grade everything.”

Clarke was impressed. This woman looked about her age, and she’s teaching ethics to her peers? Honestly, that’s hot.

“That’s amazing,” Clarke sighed.

“It’s pretty rewarding. Nothing as amazing as being an artist, though.”

Clarke blushes and waves her off, “Please. I’d barely call myself an artist. That’s a long shot. A pipe dream, really,” Clarke says wistfully.

Lexa’s features soften, gazing at Clarke warmly, her emerald gaze locked onto Clarke’s cerulean eyes. They’ve literally only been in each other’s presence for all of six minutes and all Lexa wants to do is wipe clean any doubt from Clarke and make her believe she can be the greatest artist of their time.

“I haven’t seen any of your work but I’m sure it’s nothing short of phenomenal,” Lexa assured. She got so caught up just having a casual conversation with this stranger, she completely forgot the sole purpose for their meeting.

Clarke smiled and fiddled with the sleeve on her drink. She makes a mental note to thank her friends for pushing her into doing this.

“Speaking of, we should probably talk about what I’ll be doing. Probably where, too,” Lexa said.

Clarke’s eyebrows lift up in surprise and she smirks, “You’re awfully confident that you’d be my model. And that I’d take you anywhere, in fact.” A little savage, Clarke.

It was Lexa’s turn to blush. “I didn’t - I mean, I don’t want to presume anything. You didn’t - the flyer didn’t really have any specifics and I just want to know what I’m in for. I - that is, if I’m -” Lexa rambles, hands waving around as she talks. Completely avoiding eye contact with Clarke.

Clarke lets out a deep laugh and sits back. Arms outstretched on the table, hands cupping her drink still, amused at how quickly she was able to fluster Lexa.

“Don’t worry, you’re fine. I’ve heard way worse from this,” a wry smile on her face.

“Well, now I’ve gotta know what you’ve been told,” Lexa leaned forward, arms resting on the table.

“I’ll save you the specifics but I’ve had a few guys call to ask if this was a nude model position, and whether or not I’d join afterwards.”

Lexa laughed, “Oh Lord, gotta love college boys.”

“I really should’ve expected it, honestly,” Clarke quipped.

“Yeah, definitely part of why men aren’t really in my wheelhouse,” she looked down and shook her head, amused. It took Lexa a moment to realize exactly what she said, and when she did, she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Clarke perked up at that, leaning forward again and grinned. Oh, if she didn’t want to ask this girl out before, she definitely did now that she can guess she has a chance. Wait, that’s not what we’re here for. Focus, Griff.

“Agreed.” Lexa smiled wryly. “But, anyway, back on topic,” Clarke narrowed her eyes at Lexa, “the model thing.”

“Yeah, alright, yes, of course. So, what exactly are you looking for?” Lexa cleared her throat, and sighed deeply, relieved to be on a safe topic for a moment. She’s never revealed any kind of information about herself so quickly to a stranger before. She’s not used to fumbling with her words. She’s definitely not used to any blushing around a girl. It’s a little unnerving for Lexa.

“It’s pretty simple, I’d hope,” Clarke said. “Here’s the whole situation, really. I have this assignment for one of my art classes where I need to draw a portrait of someone. Not my strong suit honestly, and I’ve drawn my friends so many times I’ve, kind of, gotten used to it? I guess.” She sighs, exasperated at the thought.

Lexa nods, listening intently. “Anyway, I just need someone to sit still for a while, couple hours maybe. Hopefully gather up some fresh inspiration.” Clarke cringed, “that sounds really boring for you, I’m sorry. I didn’t totally think that through but I promise to keep you entertained.”

“Oh, so I’ve got the job then, huh?” Lexa teased.

Clarke rolled her eyes playfully, “Yeah, well, it was a tough one - came down to you or some frat guy who’d, undoubtedly, try to feel me up at some point. So you’re a decent choice, I guess.”

“Glad to know I’m at the same high standards as some fuckboy,” Lexa joked.

Clarke gasped, “What kind of language is that from a college professor, ma’am?” She placed one hand over her chest, faux appalled, the other rested on Lexa’s forearm.

“I’m a cool professor, don’t you know?” Lexa shot back. She was hyper aware of Clarke’s touch, making her stomach flutter. Oh, fuck.

Clarke smiled brightly at her, “Alright hotshot, whatever helps you sleep at night.” She had the urge to rub Lexa’s arm gently, but let go before her body decided on it’s own.

Lexa already missed Clarke’s touch, her arm tingling where her hand has been, craving the warmth, wanting to know how it’d feel to slip her hand into Clarke’s. She shook the thought away.

“Are you free for today?” Clarke asked. Blue eyes gazing into deep green.

“I have absolutely nothing else planned, so, yeah. I’m free,” Lexa responded, barely above a whisper.

“My apartment’s not too far from here so, uh, we can go back there and I can get started, if you don’t mind? If it’s okay with you for today, I mean.” Clarke’s lips twitched up in a hopeful smile.

“Yeah, of course. I’d love to.” Lexa murmured.

Clarke beamed. The two gathered their belongings and headed out. Both of them a bundle of nerves. Stealing glances at each other as they walked down the street, hearts fluttering, yet trying to ignore it.

______________________________________________________

The walk to Clarke’s apartment was fairly quick. The two talked about silly things along the way; Clarke told Lexa about her favorite bands, Lexa told her about being on the soccer team in high school. They got to Clarke’s building and lead the way up the stairs to her apartment.

They reached the third floor and Clarke stopped in front of one of the apartments. 3C in large, faded gold on the outside of her door. Lexa shoves her hands in her pockets as Clarke unlocks the door and steps inside.

“It might be a mess in here, I share it with my two best friends so I never know how it’s gonna look sometimes,” Clarke chuckled. She placed her keys on the table next to the door and placed her bag on the couch.

Lexa still stood in the doorway, hands in her pockets, rocking back and forth on her heels.

Clarke glances over her shoulder at Lexa, looking nervous as her eyes dart around the room. “Do you need an invitation inside, like a vampire? You can come in, Lexa,” Clarke teases.

Lexa shakes her head and steps inside, smiling at how her name sounds rolling off Clarke’s tongue. Smooth and soft, like Clarke is the only one meant to say it. 

“I am, actually,” Lexa places her bag on the counter and starts taking off her jacket. “So, thank you for the unlimited access to your apartment so I can suck your neck to live.”

Clarke snorted and watches as Lexa hangs her jacket on the highchair in the kitchen, blissfully unaware of what she just said. As soon as hit her, Lexa stopped cold in her tracks, ears burning, eyes wide.

“I didn’t - I was just - I mean, vampires do drink blood and they - they bite necks so -” Lexa rambled, hands flying as she spoke.

Clarke pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a laugh as she watched Lexa stumble. Lexa seems so easy to fluster, and that’s just too adorable. I wouldn’t mind if she did, honestly.

“Before we really go into vampire mythology, how I set up my supplies and you can make yourself at home in the meantime?” Clarke asked.

“Yeah! Yes, no problem,” Lexa clapped her hands together. “I’ll just, uh, be over here.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the living room and nodded. Clarke giggled to herself and walked over to the corner of her living room where she had some art supplies laying around. Lexa clasped her hands behind her back and looked around the room.

The apartment’s fairly small, quaint but comfortable. An island counter in the kitchen, a few schedules stuck up on the fridge, a sectional couch in the living room along with a recliner both facing a coffee table and a flat screen. The floors were hardwood, the wall behind the television was red brick, photos scattered around. There was a gym bag thrown in one corner, some scrap metal on the coffee table. She looked over at Clarke’s little art corner, sketchbooks stacked in a small pile, a box of pencils, an easel pushed against the wall next to a window. Lexa loved it. It felt full of life and love. It felt like home.

Lexa walks over to a collage of photos on the wall, examining most of them, really just the ones with Clarke. Clarke and a group of friends drinking at a party, Clarke with two brunettes dressed up as supervillains for Halloween, Clarke getting a piggyback ride from an older man with similar stunning blue eyes. That photo’s a bit bigger than the rest of them.

Clarke snatches one of her larger sketchbooks and finally grabs a pack of graphite pencils when she notices Lexa. She inhales a deep breath and strides over, stands next to Lexa.

“That’s my dad,” Clarke says, barely above a whisper. Lexa chances a glance at Clarke, whose eyes are trained on the photo in question. Lexa’s all too familiar with the look in Clarke’s eyes. She turns back to the photo as well.

“A striking resemblance.”

“I got my good looks from him, I’ll give ‘em that much.”

“Eh, you’re alright, I guess.”

“I’ll have you know I won a beauty pageant once because of those good looks.” 

Lexa chuckles, “Oh, yeah?”

Clarke smiles and turns to look at Lexa, “Okay, I was like six. Either way, it was a beauty pageant so…”

“So, the age kind of invalidates it, don’t ya think?” Lexa teased. She turns her body towards Clarke, smirking. Her emerald gaze meeting Clarke’s deep cerulean. Clarke’s smile is threatening to spill as she holds Lexa’s gaze. Lexa’s never felt so at ease with someone else, so quickly, before. Her eyes dart down to Clarke’s pink lips and licks her own. Her heart’s racing. Calm down, you gay mess.

Clarke watches as Lexa’s eyes dart down for a moment, just a second, and she locks eyes with Lexa again. A heat pools down in Clarke’s belly as she looks at Lexa’s plump lips. Clarke looks back up at Lexa. Both of them wrapped in the rising intensity of the moment. Neither of them wanting to move from here.

Clarke huffs and closes her eyes for a moment, “Anyway!” she exclaims. She walks around Lexa and waves her arm in direction of the couch. “Pick anywhere. Make yourself comfy. It won’t take entirely too long but, still, sit.”

Lexa takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, tilts her head back to look up. She presses her lips together, licks them, and nods to herself. I’m already so fucking screwed.

She turns and walks over to Clarke, clears her throat, “He was a handsome guy. You have his eyes.”

A shy, bashful smile on Clarke’s face. She loves being told all the things she has in common with her father, physical or otherwise. He was her favorite person, her confidant, her partner in crime. And she really misses him.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“What was he like?” Lexa was hesitant, but she wanted to know as much about this girl as she could get. “I mean, if you’re okay with that”

Clarke nods, “Yeah, no, it’s fine. It was a while ago so I’ve worked through it,” she chuckles. She looks up at Lexa, sees her smiling sweetly. She looks down at her blank sketchbook. She should probably start on that.

“Try not to move too much, by the way.” Lexa nodded, sat back and crossed one leg over the other, her attention completely on Clarke.

She starts sketching Lexa’s face as she speaks, “Well, my dad… he has my best friend. I mean, I love both my parents - my mom’s great too, we just… fight more often. I guess.” A beat. “But my dad was the peacekeeper. Definitely my biggest fan in every way,” she laughs. “I don’t know how long it took me to understand you can’t draw on the walls at home and paper is a perfectly acceptable option but, he never got angry, even though Mom did. He always backed me up.”

Clarke absentmindedly sketched while she spoke. An outline of Lexa’s face, her beautiful curls, her blue button-up. She chanced a look at Lexa through her lashes. Lexa’s expression is as soft as ever, her eyes glossy and understanding. Clarke can tell she gets it. She hates that this is something they have in common; a loss.

The two lock eyes and Lexa inhales, “He sounds like an amazing father.”

Clarke smiles sadly and responds, “Yeah. He was.” They hold each others gaze briefly, and Clarke looks back down to continue her work.

“I lost someone special to me, too,” Lexa sighs. “Her name was Costia.”

Blue meets green again, Clarke feels so much for this complete stranger, it’s scary. The moment’s briefly intense, the silence a little thick.

“Long story short, she was in a car accident. It was pretty late, some guy had too much to drink, ran a red light,” Lexa fiddled with the hem of her shirt and shrugged. “You know the rest.”

“Lexa, that’s… terrible,” Clarke says.

“Yeah.” She folds into herself for a moment, rubs her hands over her thighs repeatedly, ready to switch gears. It’s been a few years but, every time she thinks about it, it aches a little more.

“Anyway, that got dark,” Lexa laughs an empty laugh, attempting to change the subject. “I uh - wanna hear about this one time in high school, I was on the soccer team and I wrongly got detention for a week because I accidentally hit my coach in the face with a soccer ball?”

Clarke bursts out laughing, “Oh my god, how did that happen?”

Lexa smiles, she tells Clarke all about her rivalry with one of her teammates, Ontari, how everything was made into a competition, how they ended up liking the same girl and their little competition spiraled and Lexa claims she was framed for the missed shot that smacked their coach in the face. To this day, she wholeheartedly believes she was set up. Clarke couldn’t stop smiling at Lexa, stealing glances at her, away from her sketch, as often as she could. She was just about finished but Clarke tried to take as much time as possible on it.

“Lexa, I’m sure you weren’t framed,” Clarke teased.

“I was! Clarke,” Lexa leans forward, serious as ever, hands clasped together, “That girl is satan reincarnate. She, no doubt in my mind, framed me.”

Clarke shook her head at Lexa’s antics. “Okay, okay. I’ll take your word for it. I had something similar happen in high school. Well, gym class, at least.”

“Ooh, an embarrassing story, is it? I’m intrigued.”

“Relax, nerd. I just witnessed it, it wasn’t me. Trust me, I barely participated in any sport, besides volleyball.”

“Volleyball? Oh man, wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Why’s that?” Clarke looks up from her sketchbook.

“You probably looked really good serving up shots during games.” Lexa smirked. Part of her can’t believe she just let that slip, but the more she talked to Clarke, she figured, why not? Anya pushed her into doing something new and it led her to a beautiful, amazing girl. If that’s not some cosmic sign then, Lexa doesn’t know what is.

Clarke’s cheeks turned bright red. She wasn’t expecting that.

“So, how’s the sketch coming? How terrible are you making me look?” Lexa asked.

Clarke huffed, “Are you saying I’m a bad artist?”

“No. I’m probably just a bad model,” Lexa replied amused.

Clarke scoffed, “How can you be bad at sitting still?”

Lexa rolled her eyes, “Just - can I see it?” she asked gently.

Clarke rose and walked over to Lexa, who stood as well. Clarke bit her lip hesitantly and shoved her sketchbook in Lexa’s hands.

“It’s probably really rough and definitely not my best work, so i’m just apologizing in advance and -” Clarke stopped rambling when she saw Lexa running her finger over the sketch. She was speechless. The slope of her nose, the hard lines of her jaw, the absolute softness and light in her eyes, her full smile and wild hair. She looks full of life. She looks beautiful in a way that Lexa’s never seen herself as. And she’s speechless.

“Clarke,” she whispered, “this is amazing. You’re so talented.” Lexa breathed.

Clarke smiled bashfully, heart beating wildly at the compliment. She can tell Lexa means it and it makes her heart soar.

Lexa clears her throat and hands Clarke the sketchbook. Clarke closes it, places it on the coffee table.

“I should uh, get going. Professor Gonzalez got called up for jury duty this week so I should probably go over the lecture for next class,” Lexa said as she gathered her things.

Clarke rung her hands together and nodded, “Yeah, of course, no worries. I’ll walk you out.”

Lexa pulled her jacket on and slung her bag over her shoulder. They walked together to the door of Clarke’s apartment.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Lexa. It was a huge help,” Clarke said.

“Of course. Let me know how the assignment turns out, yeah?” Lexa asked, hopefully.

“Definitely,” Clarke responded. She knows her eyes are blown and she can tell Lexa’s are too. They stand by the door, Clarke rocking on her feet and Lexa fiddling with her bag strap.

“Fuck it,” Lexa sighs.

Lexa reaches up, grabs the back of Clarke’s neck and kisses her. Clarke’s a little surprised, but she quickly melts right into the kiss. It’s soft, Lexa’s lips are soft and full. And Clarke’s lips taste like her lip gloss, strawberry flavored. Lexa’s lips parts beneath Clarke’s and the softness is gone. At the feel of Clarke’s tongue, Lexa releases a pleased sound, deep in her throat, and it leaves Clarke wanting to make Lexa do that again, wanting more.

Clarke digs her hands into Lexa’s jacket and Lexa cups her hands over Clarke’s cheeks, a thumb brushing over the curve of her jaw as Clarke’s tongue presses against Lexa. This time, it’s Clarke who groans.

Lexa comes up for air, moves back slowly, eyes still closed. She rubs her nose against Clarke’s and sighs.

Clarke’s eyes are still closed, too, and she smirks, “Been wanting to do that since I saw you walk through the cafe.”

Lexa laughs, “Wanna keep doing that, maybe, over dinner this Friday?”

“I’d love to, hotshot.”

**Author's Note:**

> cringe ending huh smh nerds


End file.
